


Widening the Gyre: Kestrel-Play Crack Fic

by celestialskiff



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kestrel play: it's like pony play, but with kestrels. Vince and Howard try it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Widening the Gyre: Kestrel-Play Crack Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Blue Boosh in 2008.

His vest stuck to his chest, slick with satsuma juice. Vince threw the satsumas so hard that they invariably burst on Howard’s skin, leaving stinging bruises. Every time he moved, they ached. The feeling went straight to his groin.

“Vince! Do it again!”

“I haven’t got any satsumas left, you spanner. I’ve used them all up. I swear you don’t even try to duck!”

“I can’t help it if my manly bulk makes me a better target than an eel like you,” Howard said.

“Oh, come on, Howard, you couldn’t hit me if you tried! Look, I’ll prove it!” Vince turned around, presenting his arse in its tight pants to Howard, and wriggling it. “Bet you can’t hit that!” he crooned.

Howard gritted his teeth, watching Vince’s arse swing in semi-circles. He threw his last satsuma, intent on hitting Vince’s left cheek. He missed, of course, and the satsuma burst on the footpath at Vince’s feet.

“Some man of action you are,” Vince said, straightening up. “We should probably go inside. The foxes’ll be out soon.”

It was getting dark out, and Howard’s sticky skin was beginning to feel cold.

“Vince?” he said.

“What now?” Vince asked, idly poking a squashed satsuma with his big toe.

“Are you going to…” He cleared his throat. “Are you to wear the jumpsuit again tonight?”

“What jumpsuit?” Then Vince grinned, realising, and sidled closer to Howard.

“The one… you know.”

“Oh. You want to be my kestrel again tonight, then, eh, Howard?”

“I don’t…”

“Be a good kestrel for Vince and sit on my hand?” Vince said, and smirked, his face too close to Howard’s for comfort.

“No, I…” Howard’s lips worked as he fought with himself. It was a process Vince tired of quickly.

“I think I need to change,” he said, and sprang up the shop’s narrow staircase.

The leather was so soft it felt like butter between his fingers. It had cost a whole month’s wages, but it was completely worth it. He ran the sleeve over his cheek, feeling its suppleness and inhaling the scent of leather. There was something about that smell which made his knees grow week. He pressed the crotch of the suit against his nose and nearly swooned at the combination of the scent of leather and his own sweat. When he’d seen it in the shop he’d known it would look good on him: the leather clinging to the curves of his arse and the muscles in his legs, but he hadn’t realise the effect it would have on him, or Howard.

He carefully pulled it on. Its v was even deeper than that of his red jumpsuit, and revealed the top of his pubic hair. The leather clung to him, closer than a second skin, and wrinkled just a little over the outline of his cock.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Vince said to his reflection in the mirror. “You could take over the world looking like that, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, fuck, Vince,” Howard said from the doorway, looking at him.

“You hard already?” Vince said. “That’s not playing the game properly, is it, Mr Kestrel?”

“I’m not! It’s just…that it was windy outside.”

“Oh fuck off, that’s not the wind,” Vince said, and felt Howard’s eyes following him as he walked over to his bedside locker. He took the leather gloves from where they were folded in the top drawer and glanced back at Howard.

“This what you waiting for, kestrel? Are you going to fly to me when I put these on?”

Howard just stood there, clasping the doorknob with one hand, almost drooling as he watched Vince tug the gloves on, rolling them up his wrists and working free any wrinkles.

Vince didn’t make any other moves, but just looked back at Howard, loving the way Howard’s eyes drunk him in.

“Good kestrels don’t wear vests and pants all covered in satsuma juice,” Vince reminded him at length, because he refused to fuck anyone covered in food stains.

“Oh, yes,” Howard swallowed audibly. “No vests or pants. I can do that for you, sir. Be the best kestrel you ever met.”

“I doubt that,” Vince said. “Leroy wears a little hat covered in feathers.”

Vince’s cock twitched appreciatively as Howard slid his pants over his erection. He loved it when people were hard for him. “I’ll be a much better kestrel than Leroy,” Howard was saying. “I even sound like a kestrel when I come. Bet Leroy doesn’t do that?”

“Don’t bet on it,” Vince said, advancing towards Howard. “Ugh, you’re still all sticky. Good kestrels preen their feathers before they come and sit on their owner’s fists.”

“Course they do, sir,” Howard agreed and raised his arm to his lips, licking the juice off. “I’m cleaning my wings, see?”

Vince watched as the pink tongue traced over Howard’s forearm and bicep. “There’s a good kestrel,” he said absently.

Howard grinned. “Can I fly to you now? I’m a very good kestrel.”

“You have to circle me. You should know that by now.”

Howard spread his arms out and ran around Vince in a gyre that became smaller and smaller until his fingertips brushed Vince’s arm. Vince grinned and caught them in one tightly gloved hand.

“Did you catch me a mouse? Or a rabbit? What has my kestrel got for me today?” he crooned.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Howard cried, “I didn’t catch anything for you, Vince!”

“Then my kestrel has to be punished,” Vince said, pressing close to Howard, his leather jumpsuit squeaking as he raised one arm above his head. He gave Howard’s thighs two stinging slaps. They were already bruised from the onslaught of satsumas, and Howard cried out both times.

“Mm, but you’re still hard, aren’t you?” Vince said, running a leather-coated fingertip over Howard’s leaking cock.

“Mm, oh yes sir,” Howard said. He pressed back against Vince’s supple form, feeling his sticky skin sticking to the cool leather. Vince ran his other hand down Howard’s spine to his arse.

“Does my bad kestrel want to sit on my hand?” he crooned.

“Yes,” Howard replied in a breathy voice. “I’ll be such a good kestrel if you let me sit on your hand.”

Vince pressed one leather finger into the tight arsehole, and then pushed Howard forward. He guided Howard onto all fours, digging his booted foot into Howard’s spine. It seemed a pity to spoil his supple leather gloves with lube, but he did so grudgingly, rubbing the sticky substance into his hand.

He removed his boot, which had left a dark red mark on Howard’s back, and knelt beside Howard on the floor.

“What does my kestrel want?”

Howard choked, and then said, “Let me sit on your hand. Please, Vince!”

“Good kestrel,” Vince said softly, shifting his jumpsuit so his engorged cock could jut out of the top of it. He teased the head with one leather finger, while he ran his other hand over the cleft of Howard’s arse.

“Yes. Please!” Howard cried as he slid one finger inside, and then another. Howard shifted his arse backwards, clenching the muscles and drawing Vince on. They’d practiced this before, but it still took the all the concentration of Vince’s brain cell to achieve the right angle, dipping his fingers further in. He managed three, then four, while Howard grunted and moaned appreciatively.

“Oh, yes. I’m such a good kestrel, aren’t I, Vince? Aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Vince agreed distractedly as he worked the thumb in, feeling the pleasant tightness all around his leather-clad arm. He wriggled his fingers a little, feeling Howard’s muscles contract around him.

“Sitting on your hand now,” Howard said.

“Yeah. My kestrel,” Vince agreed, and dipped his fingers into his jumpsuit so he could pump his cock. They began a sloppy rhythm, Vince thrusting his fist further into Howard, while Howard pressed back, desperate to sit on his fist.

Vince came first, careful to cup his hand around the head of his cock so that he didn’t mark his jumpsuit. He withdrew his fist from Howard with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Vince, sir, I’m a good kestrel, aren’t I?” Howard moaned.

“You liked sitting on my fist, then?” Vince said.

“Yes, Vince. Of course.” Howard knelt there, arse titled up, unmoving, and then groaned, “can I come, now, Vince?”

“Good kestrels can finish themselves off,” Vince said, and wandered over to the mirror to admire the way the suit framed his cock again.


End file.
